Heart's Fire
by RExWolfxDragon
Summary: You are an average, every day One day, you meet some out of the ordinary heroes, and are drawn into a world different from any you have known, Rated T for language and Reader X Dean
1. The Fire

**You are an average, every day hero. One day, you cross paths with a pair of out of the ordinary heroes, and are drawn into a world unlike any you have ever known. Rated T for language and violence. Reader X Dean.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sam or Dean Winchester, or the world of Supernatural. **

**I write this for my friend. **

* * *

You wake up, blinking your eyes in the early morning light. You don't have any particular wish to remove yourself from the warm cocoon that is your bed, to step out into the comparatively icy air of your room. Your heater is broken, so the autumn chill is inescapable without layers or fire- but only a fool would leave a fire burning while they slept. Yet, remove yourself you must. People were relying on you. You had an obligation to help those who needed it.

As you readied yourself for the day, you thought of all the countless people you had already saved, or at least helped. How many lives you were an integral, yet fleeting part of. It made you happy every time you thought of the smiling, ash and soot covered faces; or the smiling faces you would see later, in the hospital when you would visit those you could not speak to before. Not even the memory of those who were less fortunate, the tear stained faces…or the faces you couldn't recognize as people anymore. No, not even those – far and few between- memories could get you down when you thought of all the good you were doing. You dried your hair as your reflection smiled out at you from your bathroom mirror. You had a feeling that today would be a good day. Your pals at the station would have cooked some delicious meal for lunch, there would be no fires for you to fight, the old Chief wouldn't be as critical of you today…Feeling revitalized by this unusual optimism, you thought about maybe bringing in a sweet breakfast for everybody.

Opening your bathroom door, you immediately decide against expending the effort as the steamy heat you had gathered rushed out, and you are hit by the cold morning air yet again. You rush the rest of your morning routine, eager to get to your car- which comes complete with a working heater.

* * *

You were wrong. You were called out to a job a half-hour before you were to go home. Someone had reported the "sudden break out" of a bedroom fire. A woman was trapped in the house on the upper floors. The address was not far from the station, you and the others arrived in no more than five minutes. The house was fully ablaze when you arrived. You and another firefighter went in together, finding nothing baring your path to the woman. The walls had fire clinging tight against them, and smoke was thick in the air, but there was nothing else. The fire did not even burn the furniture. You and your partner hurried up the untouched stairs to the upper floors. Here, the fire burned fiercely, devouring everything. Your partner thought he saw the woman, and drew your attention to her. Or what was left of her.

Your partner suddenly fell through the floor, and the stairs behind you had become a deadly inferno. In front of you, the entire upper floor was collapsing. You rushed through the fire on the stairs, protected by your gear. Your partner's leg had been badly hurt in his fall, and with his aid you lifted him over your shoulder and carried him out. He was almost too heavy for you, being a fully grown man wearing hefty gear; but adrenaline floods through you, aiding you in your endeavors. You struggled to get him out, thankful that the fire had not changed on the ground level. You barely got him out before you had to drop him or collapse under his weight. You passed him off to another firefighter and then went to aid the others in trying to keep the fire from spreading to the other houses. This was not a fire that could be put out.

After battling the blaze for a few hours, others came and relieved you. It was not until you were back at headquarters that you stopped to think about what you had seen. That woman's body had been difficult to recognize, but you had seen other corpses like it before. Yet those bodies had been burning for hours BEFORE you got there. This fire had been burning for only- at most- thirty minutes. Thirty minutes? But how could it have spread as it had in such a short amount of time? And the way it was burning, so specifically… like it did indeed have a life of its own- as it often seems- and was trying to destroy the walls, as if it were trying to destroy a prison. It had burned so differently on the second floor. The source of the fire was supposed to have been a room on said level, but… Things just didn't add up. Something was wrong.


	2. Changing

**Short chapter, I know, but it is the best way to break up the story.**

* * *

A month after the strange fire, you still had no answers. You had become obsessed, going to the ruins of the house often. Nothing remained of the top half, but the bottom was still there- except for the walls. Everything else- furniture, the floor, decorative pieces – was fine; blackened, a bit singed and melted here and there, but otherwise untouched by the fire. There was no evidence as to what caused the fire, where exactly it had started, or why it had burned the way it had. There were no human remains either. They were gone with the rest of the upper half. One of the many things that bothered you was how nothing was crushed under rubble from above, how there WAS NO rubble from above for anything to be crushed under.

You had gone through all the items remaining, learning as much about the woman who lived there as you could from them. The books were all destroyed by the water that was the fire fighters weapon, so you got nothing useful from them. Except that the very quantity of them suggested a great love of books, perhaps a great curiosity as well. There were many pendants with odd, unfamiliar symbols adorning either side of the variously shaped metal disks, and many little statuettes of an array of woodland creatures and strange figures on the various bits of furniture. The furniture itself was simple and inexpensive.

You also did a great deal of computer based research. You discovered many details about the woman and her pendants. She was into strange things, things beyond that which most people would ever knowingly encounter. She followed dark paths, paths that you couldn't believe were real. How could you? These were things that people told each other late at night, around a campfire, or in darkened rooms. Things said to cause fear, but that you could easily brush off in the morning because you knew they were just stories. That they couldn't hurt you.

You had a full drawer of files on the woman and her… studies. Yet you knew next to nothing about the blaze you had walked through.


	3. Strangers

Another week passed, and you now stood outside of another fire. This one was at the house next to the house that you had been obsessed with. You had told the chief how difficult it had been for you to carry out your partner, despite the fact that he was one of the lightest firefighters in the division. Your chief guaranteed that anyone would have these difficulties, assuring you that it was because of the combined weight of the hundreds of pounds of gear that had made it so. However, he was very aware of your actions afterwards- of your obsession. You were no longer one of the crew who went into the house, which was fine with you because you didn't want to endanger anyone. It was important that everyone who walked into the inferno could be relied upon to carry out anyone they came across who could not walk out themselves. Despite what the chief said, you didn't think you could handle it.

This fire had not grown so large, and was easily dispensed with. No one was hurt; the family had come outside when they heard the smoke detector alerting them to the sudden fire. It had started outside, on the side of the house closest to the ruins of the other. This side had been repaired, having been damaged by the close proximity of the intense heat of the other house. It seemed that the wiring had been somehow faulty, and had caused this fire. You didn't think so though. As you watched steam and smoke rise from the house, you could not seem to relax, thinking of the things you had discovered about the mysterious house.

A pair of men walked up to your chief as you helped ready the truck to leave. One was taller than the other, with lighter, slightly longer hair. He wore a hoodie and blue jeans. The other wore a long coat with jeans. You couldn't tell much about them from where you stood, but the dark-haired one held up some sort of badge as he engaged the chief. You try to focus on your task, but you cannot keep your attention from wandering over to the strangers. They seem very familiar with each other, as if they had worked together for a long time. The chief seems annoyed at their presence and words, but that isn't strange. Firefighters don't usually get along with badge-flashers. He was probably giving them a hard time, with a lot of grunts and glares. Good ol' chief.

One of the strangers said something, gesturing to the old ruins. The chief looked at them, his shoulders drooping a bit as he responded. Something was going on, and you didn't feel very good about it. You stopped what you were doing completely; your hands raised and still on the ladder as you peaked around the brightly coloured truck. The chief shook his head many times in response to whatever the strangers were asking. The sun peaked out from behind the thick blanket of clouds that covered the sky today, the sudden light momentarily blinding you as it glared off of the chrome on the truck. You recovered quickly, however, and the sun was soon hidden once again.

The dark-haired man had moved away from the other two, looking around the weather beaten furniture. His companion still spoke with the chief. Your companions were ready to leave now, the ambulance had left some time ago, and everything that involved the firefighters was done. You move to stand with a friend of yours as everyone waits for the chief. Your friend pats you on the back, congratulating you on your hard work.

You smile back at him, returning the expression. "Hey, Jared, what's up with those guys?" you ask light-heatedly.

He shrugs. "I don't know, but I think they must be fire marshals of some kind. We already talked to THOSE guys though. I guess that these guys are just here to get some fresh eyes on the scene. It was such a strange occurrence…"

Your smile widens, and you try to lighten things up. "That barbecue comin' up at Davy's sound like it's gonna be great."

Jared beams at you. He loves barbecue, no matter what time of year it is; he and his brother- David- both. They use them as celebrations for just about anything. Davy was having one in a few days to celebrate the availability of his dog's first litter. The pups were old enough to leave their mom now, and they would be available for the guests to take home. You remembered the barbecue a little over a month ago, in celebration of the litter's arrival. Many of the pups were already chosen, but you have no interest in them. You are not home enough for any kind of pet, let alone a dog. Also, you are not allowed to have dogs at your apartment.

As Jared talked about the puppies and the barbecue, you focused on the chief and the two strangers. It seemed like the dark-haired man noticed you, and looked in your direction, but you had no way of knowing. He returned to his partner's side, and the two of them exchanged words. The taller one addressed the chief, who then turned and met your curious gaze as he responded. The two strangers looked over at you, and for a moment, you freeze. Then they nodded, saying a few parting words as they walked away. The chief returned to the group, and soon you were all back at headquarters.

* * *

You stand, leaning against the counter in your small kitchen, staring at the tiles of the floor. You take a sip from the steaming mug in your left hand, enjoying the way the heat spreads through you. It is a cold night, but you cannot will yourself to go to the warmth of your bed. All the lights in your apartment are on, and though you think yourself foolish, you can't get over this over-bearing fear. It is more fear of the unknown than anything, you know. Having read all the information you have, you now have a wealth of new, frightening questions. Yet, you have no one you can go to for answers. Every shadow seems menacing in the night, every sound a threatening whisper. The sun's light makes you feel safer in the day, but it isn't enough. You are just going through the day to day motions. The faces in your memory are no longer enough to lift your spirits.

You bring the mug up to your lips, tipping it up; only to discover you have already drained the contents. You look at the clock with a groan. If you don't go to bed soon, there would be no point in going to bed at all. You debate leaving the lights on, but decide against it. There is no need to waste money on foolish fears. You walk around your apartment, turning of the lights in the kitchen, the main room, the half-bath, the hallway, the main bathroom, and then finally- your bedroom lights flick out. Only a lamp on your bedside table illuminates the minimalistic space of your room.

You sit on the edge of your bed, already clothed in your warm pajamas. The Moon's light shines through the one window in the room, pooling on the floor just inside. You turn off the lamp and crawl under the pile of blankets on your bead, the moonlight now illuminating the room in a dim, white light. You close your eyes, quickly willing yourself to sleep.

* * *

You check your shopping list one more time, checking the listed items against the items in your cart. You have everything- except one item that only one store sells. You check out, ignoring the semi-cheerful words of the man behind the counter. He tells you how much you owe, and you swipe your card, entering the four digit code before returning the card to your pocket. You gather your bags, mostly fruit and salt; a lot of salt. You had read that salt circles would protect you, and while you are sure that you are being ridiculous, you can't help but think "better safe than sorry."

You take your bags out into the parking lot, opening the trunk of your car with the push of a button on your key-ring. Dropping your double-arm load of groceries into the mostly empty space, you close the lid on the trunk and slide into the driver's seat. You put the keys in the ignition and music starts softly flowing from the speakers. It's one of your favorite songs. Buckling your seat belt, you turn up the music until it blares around you, and you lose yourself to it as the radio people decide to play song after song from your favorites list. You drive to the gas station near your apartments that holds your favorite candy- the rare beauty that it is.

You park near the pumps, noticing a black Impala sitting empty at one of the stations. You aren't much into cars, but there are a few you would recognize anywhere you saw it. The Chevy Impala was one of those. One of your exes' drove one- he was crazy about cars. It hadn't ended well between the two of you. He had been unable to handle your work, couldn't handle the danger you faced every day. He had said it put too much strain on your relationship; that he couldn't take these nights of staying up and worrying over you. You half-thought that part of the problem was that he felt emasculated by you. That every time anyone expressed gratitude or appreciation of your work, he felt small and insignificant.

Shaking off the unpleasant memories, you stride proudly into the little store. You are beyond that man, and you would not lower yourself to his level. You walk directly to the cramped isle that keeps your treasure. Picking it up, you look over to the register to see how long the line is. You see the two strangers that had spoken with the chief yesterday. You move closer, trying to remain inconspicuous as you listen in. They seemed to be arguing.

"Dean, we can't live off of gummy bears and chocolate. Look, bananas, let's get some of those." The taller one said, grabbing a bunch of bananas.

The shorter one, apparently named Dean, made a face that suggested that he thought otherwise. He had a very expressive face. You try to look interested in a jar of peanut butter while you listen to his response. "Whatever, I'm fine, aren't I?"

"We're getting these." The other man says and they go to check out.

You decide to stop being weirdly sneaky and go to purchase your items too. You stand behind the two in line, behind another three people. Dean and the other man talk to each other, sounding like a bickering couple, or like bickering siblings. You discover the taller man's name is Sam, and that Dean dislikes anything healthy. Well, at least right now he did. After two of the people in front of the strangers leave, the third one pulls out a little pouch and hands it to the clerk. You recognize the lady as Mrs. Garrison. You sigh, knowing that she is going to take a long time. The pouch is a tobacco pouch, and she likes her tobacco flavored. She was out of whatever flavor she had had, and is now going to test many others before she picks a new one.

After the second testing, Dean turns and smiles at you, the way people being inconvenienced in the same way smile at each other. You shake your head at him, smiling back. "Mrs. Garrison is going to be at this for a while. I hope you have a great deal of patience."

His brow furrows, and he looks at the old woman. "Really? Thanks for telling me." He smiles at you, looking over you, checking you out. His smile widens.

Sam turns around, looking between the two of you. He gives you an apologetic look, turning to his companion in apparent annoyance. "Dean."

"What?" Dean shrugs at him. "Hey, I'm going to go check out the area some more, you can buy all these things." He says, passing off his armful of candy. He smiles triumphantly at you as he walks out.

You smile apologetically at Sam. "Looks like he stuck you with the wait."

Sam blinks at you, looking in front of him. He seems to understand what you mean. "It's alright, I don't mind. This way, I can make sure he gets REAL food." He says, putting several of the items down.

You continue to smile at him, wondering what they're relationship was with one another. Not wanting to talk anymore, you exclaim that you had forgotten something, and move to the back of the store. Its several more minutes before Mrs. Garrison finally exits. You return with a few items that you had found. Sam smiles at you as he pays for his items. You express a wish for his having a good day when he leaves, and he responds in kind. You pay for your items and leave, hurrying to your car. It had started to rain while you were inside.

Once in your apartment, you put everything in its proper place, and then spend half an hour putting salt down around the entire apartment, doubling the amount at the doors and windows. You feel silly, looking around at the white lines around the edges of the floor, but also a little safer. You sit down in the living room, eating a peach and idly watching tv. After a few hours, you go to the kitchen and prepare a simple dinner. You eat it while leaning against the counter. Once you've finished, you wash all the dishes, and put them away. You go to bed a little earlier than usual, having decided that you would like to see the sun rise in the morning.


	4. Company

**_A.N._**** Hey, guys, I need some feed back on this. I need to know if I should keep it going as it is, or if I should make some Altercations. Keep that in mind, please! I appreciate all readers, silent and otherwise! **

* * *

You come home, as tired from work as you would be if you had been fighting fires. You had been doing drills all day, and you just want to crawl into bed and rest. You don't forget to carefully step over your salt lines, but you drag your feet the rest of the way to the bathroom. You kick off your shoes as you walk through the living room, tugging off your shirt as you walk through your room. Once you reach the bathroom, you drop your pants. You intend on getting in the shower, but first you stop to look in the mirror. You frown at the state of your hair, knowing full well that if you don't fix this now, it will be an impossible mess post-shower. You carefully brush out your tangles and then clean all of the hair from your brush. As you set the brush aside, you hear the faint sounds of someone knocking on your door.

You sigh, going to your room and grabbing your dirty sleeping clothes from the floor. You had worn an old, baggy t-shirt and pair of small, loose shorts last night, as all of your other pajamas were in the dryer. You put them on as you go to the door, hoping it was going to be a delivery guy on the other side, with the books you had ordered a few days ago. You open the door a crack, keeping the chain in place. Peeking around the door you discover the two strangers from before- Sam and Dean-standing on your doorstep.

Dean smiles at you, his companion smiling behind him. "Hi, I'm Dean Wayans. We met yesterday. We work with the Sheriff's Department." He holds up a badge for a few seconds.

"What do you want?" You demand, confused. What could they want with you, and why were they interested in the fire?

"We would like to talk to you." Sam says, sounding much more reasonable than his partner. "My name is Sam, and your Chief told us you would be able to help us?"

You glare at them suspiciously. "What did he say?"

"He just said that you could help." Sam said, shaking his head. He looked so sincere, like he actually needed to know what you knew.

"Hold on. Wait right there." You close the door. You debate whether you would remove the chain, let them in, and aid them; or if you would open the door again, tell them to leave, and go take a shower. After nearly a minute, you remove the chain, opening the door. The officers are still there, though Dean looks as if he was about to leave. "Alright," you say with a sigh, "come in."

Dean starts to step through your doorway, but you shove him back. He looks at you with a raised eyebrow, about to speak. You point down, at your salt lines- which he had been about to step on. "Watch out" you say, stepping aside and waving them in.

"Salt?" Dean asks. He and Sam exchange a look, the meaning of which you could not decipher.

"It's…something my mom did." You explain quickly, replacing the chain on the door. You lead them into your living room, and ask them to wait a moment while you push the chairs in the room together. Sam protests assuring you that they wouldn't mind standing. You shake your head, grabbing your favorite chair from the corner of the room and pushing it up next to the one in front of the TV. Dean comments on how it seems that you don't have many guests over.

"I prefer to go places, and keep my home as my own." You respond, not sure what to make of his expression. "Here, sit down, let me get you something to drink." You do your best to sound normal. "What would you like? Beer? Coffee? How about some Cocoa?"

Dean starts to say beer, but Sam elbows him, instead saying "We're good, thanks." They sit down, Dean looking very slightly upset as he sits in your favorite chair.

You sit across from them, thinking that they don't seem much like officers of the law. "What can I help you with?"

"Well, we're investigating the fire at the Emerson house. We were hoping you would be able to shed light on the situation." Sam says, leaning forward.

"The Emerson house? I think I might remember what you're talking about." You answer casually.

Dean rolls his eyes, seeming to think you weren't looking at him. "You're chief said you were the only one who actually knew anything about tha-"

"You said he didn't-"You cut him off, looking away as you realize that you are more nervous than you had thought. "I remember." You sigh after a moment.

"Others have said that the fire was strange, unnatural even?" Dean seems to be trying to hint at something.

"Yeah," You take a deep breath, "Fires aren't picky about what they burn. When they reach a certain point, all we can do is keep it from spreading to other houses. But, you saw the remains of the Emerson house, the furniture… That isn't natural."

"Your friend- Jared- says that you think you know something about it…?" Sam asks gently, looking concerned.

"Jared was wrong. I have no idea what happened, or why." You glare at him. Why would Jared tell them that, you hadn't said anything to him about your research?

"Your friends are worried about you. They say you've been obsessing over the house, over the woman who lived there." His dark eyes are filled with emotion.

"They say that you've gotten into some…strange things." Dean glances at the salt around the room.

"What do you two want from me?" You demand, feeling defensive. Your friends are more perceptive than you had given them credit for, and a lot more loose- tongued. "Be straight with me, you came here for something specific, didn't you?"

They exchange another look before Dean responds. "They say you think that it was something that made the fire burn as it did. Some dark spirit or demon…"

"And you came to check out this angle because…? What, you think it might have some truth? Or are you here to mock me?"

"We have come across stranger things." Sam says with another sincere smile, this one backed by a sad look in his eyes.

"You two aren't telling me something." You glare at them, standing. "Get out. If you want to know what I've found, then you can go find it yourselves. I don't talk to people who refuse to be honest with me."

"Wait!" Sam pleads, motioning for you to relax. Dean stands, his expression serious. Sam quickly explains that he and Dean seek out odd cases such as the one you are involved in, and that they are not in fact officers of the law.

You search their faces, trying to find any sign that you should kick them out. You search Sam's dewy, sensitive eyes, and are forced to admit that there is nothing about him that makes you doubt his sincerity. You turn your attention to his partner, searching his unreadable, bright eyes. His expression suggests that he thinks that your aid is inevitable. You redouble your efforts to think of a reason to get rid of them; but you are unable to think of any real reason, so you tell them to wait a moment. You walk back into your room, gathering all of the files you have collected in your research of the incident. You walk back down the little hall, having some difficulty handling the armload of folders and documents. Seeing Dean still standing, you go to him, pressing your research into his reluctant arms. He fumbles with the load, a few papers slipping out. Sam leans down to pick them up as you speak.

"This is all I have found, everything I've noted and everything that I could dredge up." You cross your arms over your chest, finding the expression on Dean's face rather humorous. "This is all I've got. You can take it; do whatever you want with it. It has been of little help to me, unless you count scaring the shit out of me and confusing me as 'helpful'"

Sam gives you a grateful smile, his few words filled with warmth. "Thank you."

Dean smiles too, though he seems more skeptical than appreciative. "Yeah, thanks."

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I was about to take a shower and go to bed. " You usher them out, assuring them that you would be available if they needed anything else, mentioning that you couldn't think of anything else they might need from you.

Once they're gone and you've locked your door yet again, you go and take the shower you've been waiting to take. The heat of it soothes you, calming you and rinsing away your worries. You spend more time standing under the steady stream than you had intended, but you feel much better for it. Once you're out, you quickly towel off and slip into some clean, warm pajamas. Drying your hair, you think that you should definitely call someone to come and fix your heater before winter. Your room is cold, and the heat is quickly escaping you. You sit on the edge of your bed, pulling the blanket up and wrapping it around yourself. You see the little orange light of your answering machine blinking calmly at you, and you reach over to the bedside table and hit play. One of your friends wants to meet for lunch tomorrow, another one suggests drinks at your favorite bar sometime, and another expresses her wish to have a celebration with you because her exams at college went so well. Some companies want you to buy their products, a few charities want money or clothes. You delete these messages, calling your friend about brunch.

After a few rings, she picks up. "Hello?"

"Hey, Liz, its me, I just got your message." You smile as she pours joy through the phone, expressing her wish to tell you about a man she met and her need to hear about your nearly non-existent love life. "It has been a long time since we hung out, just the two of us." You agree readily.

"Damn right it has!" She shouts with a laugh. You hold the phone a little farther from your ear to protect it from her enthusiasm. "You're too busy being a hero to hang out with the people who actually need you?" She laughs some more, lifting your spirits. "Hey, so, you gonna show for brunch?" she demands.

"That depends, Liz." You say her name pointedly, and you imagine her biting her nails with a smirk and looking away like a girl who has been caught in some mischievous act. "Are we going to be the only ones there, or are you trying to set me up again?"

"No! Of course it'll be just us!" You grin at the mock hurt in her voice. She laughs her light bubbly laugh that draws men to her. "Especially after what you did to poor David! He might never date another woman in his life after the way you crushed his heart. The poor baby." She laughs again.

You shrug, not wanting to think of that awful fiasco. "Yeah, I'll be there. You're paying though, right? You are the one doing the inviting; it's the right thing to do."

She says your name wrapped up in a laugh, taking a moment to respond. "Sure, why not, but you know if you get something expensive, you have to put out."

You laugh, falling back on your bed. "Yeah, I've heard that somewhere before."

"No, no, it's true. It's a rule. You HAVE to."

"Oh yeah? You tryin' to tell me something, Liz?"

"As if!" You hear the sound of a door shutting over the line, and a deep voice utter some sort of greeting. "I gotta go, see you at ten? The usual place?"

"Yeah. I'll see you there."

You hang up the phone, your room suddenly feeling too quiet and empty. You shift on your bed until you're in its center, your head resting on the soft, cold pillows, and pull your blankets more tightly around you. It takes you a long time to fall asleep, feeling alone and empty.

* * *

Liz takes a long draw from the straw in her bright, tropical drink. "Are you sure you don't want one of these, or a beer, or some wine, any REAL drink at all?"

"No, I'm good." You laugh, taking a sip of your hot chocolate. "Besides, isn't that kind of, you know, out of season?" You're sitting outside, despite the chill, and enjoying the scent of autumn on the air. Liz, however, seems to be trying to pretend its summer, and it's only the shade of the umbrella above you and the wind that makes it cold.

She looks at you as if you are some stupid child. "Out of season? This shit is never out of season; I'm ordering you one, and you can apologize to it by drinking three or five." She giggles.

"Why are you trying to get me drunk?" You ask, rolling your eyes at her.

"Because you only get chattery when your drunk, and I wanna know what's what with you!" Her demeanor changed, becoming much more serious. "I've been hearing a lot of shady things, friend."

"Excuse us,"A vaguely familiar voice calls your name from behind you. Looking over your shoulder, you see the men from yesterday walking up to your table.

Liz's expression brightens as she takes in the sight of them, turning towards them and recrossing her legs so they could better see her and her 'let's have sex right now 'clothes that she always wears. "Are these friends of yours?" she asks hopefully. Dean grins at her, his eyes slowly taking in the sight of her.

"No." You snap at her. She starts, then turns back towards you apologetically. "What do you two want now?"

Sam glares at his partner, pursing his lips at him. "Could we talk to you, alone?" He addresses you seriously, his brow furrowed with what seems like concern.

Hesitantly, you stand, glancing at your friend in hopes of an excuse not to. You feel certain that they have brought some horrible, life changing news about the things you had read about. Surely there could be no other reason they are here. However, Liz betrays you. "Go on, don't let me stand in your way." She winks and laughs her bubbly laugh- earning her a look from Dean that brings a frown to your lips.

"Let's go, then." You glare at your friend, who just waves back at you with a triumphant smirk. As you walk away, Sam dragging Dean behind him, Dean points out how attractive Liz is to the taller man, as if Sam hadn't noticed. "Yeah, Liz is great." You turn your glare on him. He smiles, repeating her name as Sam opens the little gate that leads out to the sidewalk.

"Dean." Sam joins you in glaring, making a motion with his hands that you don't know the meaning of. "So," Sam turns to you, addressing you by name, "I looked over your work, and I am impressed by how much you were able to dig up."

"Yeah, well, I've got connections." You stop walking, standing next to a stop sign and looking around. There aren't many cars out on the roads, which is normal for a weekday at about elven o' clock. Most people's lunch breaks don't start until 12:30 in this town, soon the roads would be jammed with people trying to find the right food to fit their tastes.

Dean comes up beside you, his expression now serious. "It's a good thing you stopped digging when you did. The thing that started that fire doesn't appreciate people being in its business."

You meet his green eyes, fear building in your chest. "Is that what happened to Regina? She got too nosey?"

"We think so." Sam answers- all soft emotion and concern.

"…And you think that…this 'thing' you mentioned, might…"

"We just wanna make sure." Sam interrupts you.

"This thing has a pattern." Dean says, all business, " We have worked out what motivates it, how it attacks, and why. All that's left now is to find out how to kill it."

"The pattern suggests it will attack tonight." Sam explains carefully. "We think it might come after you."

"What? But you just said…" Your mind scrambles to understand.

"The fire was a punishment. Regina Emerson called the thing out, forced it to materialize." Dean's expression leads you to believe he thinks that it was her own fault she died. "The other attacks are much different."

"How?" You demand, turning to Sam.

He sighs, his brow furrowing and his lips drawing into a tight line. "We think one of us should stay with you tonight." He says instead of answering.

You want to demand he answer you, but you decide that he must have good reason for not. "Why don't I stay with you?" You ask, looking from one to the other. "Where ever you're staying, you must know the layout of it better than my apartment."

"Uh…"Sam looks to his partner for an answer, only to find the shorter man seeking one from him.

"You can't deny that that is sound logic." You say, confused by this reaction. "I mean, I'm not wrong, am I? You should know the layout of where you're staying better than-"

"We do." Dean cuts you off. "We just, ahhh…"

Sam smiles, "It usually takes a lot of convincing for us to get someone to let one of us stay with them. Now you're asking us to take you to some unknown, unfamiliar place…" he laughs uncomfortably.

"What, you think I'm afraid of you two? That I think you're lying to me as some sort of plot to let you into my home? " You ask, somewhat insulted.

"Yeah, pretty much." Dean's expression suggests he thinks your crazy.

"That is how it usually is." Sam amends more gently.

"Well, I already believe you about this scary ass 'thing' you mentioned, and logic clearly states that I would be safer with you two, soooooo…" You glare at them for a moment before continuing. "I'm not some helpless girl, you know. You said that this is what you guys do, that you are some sort of professionals? Well, I'm more afraid of those nameless 'things' I read about in Regina's journals than I am of two men. I'm a professional too, ya see."

"Alright, alright." Sam holds his hands out palms down, motioning for you to calm down.

"It's just weird." Dean says, somewhat apologetically, his expression of confused apology almost bringing a smile to your face.

"Alright." You take a deep, calming breath, and let it out slowly. "So, I'm staying with you?"

"We're just staying in a cheap motel." Sam says, obviously trying to dissuade you.

"Really cheap." Dean backs him up.

"What am I, a princess?"

"There isn't even running water." Dean shakes his head, looking every bit the reasonable man.

"Ah, yeah, sure. Look, if you guys don't want to give me the best protection you can give, than fine. Come to my apartment, where the 'thing' must surely know I live." You raise your eyebrows at them, motioning in the direction of your home.

Sam looks like you've won him over, and he turns his empathetic gaze on Dean, his lips drawn into a thin line. Dean gives him a look that suggest he thinks he's being ridiculous, and Sam's brow furrows and he tilts his head. "Ah, c'mon, Sammy! We had a plan."

"Dean, she has a good point." Sam draws out his name slightly.

You look at them skeptically, unsure of the dynamic here. "Alright!" Dean says, exasperated. "You can stay with us, we'll all stay together. It'll be great." He walks back the way you had come.

* * *

**Commercial Break! Just kidding, I'll try to update soon. For those of you just wanting me to get right into the promised Reader X Dean (those of you who have about as much patience as me), don't worry, its coming. **


	5. Ghost

**I finally finished this chapter, it feels like it took forever. Anyway, here it is. **

* * *

You sit on the edge of an unkempt bed, staring at the dingy, brownish wall across from you. Dean is laying on the other bed, his eyes closed and his breathing even and slow. Perhaps he is asleep. Sam is sitting at a small table, typing away on a silver laptop. He glances at you occasionally, but says nothing. Your discomfort is nearly palpable, you know, but you have no idea how to interact with these men. You frown at the wall, deciding to reexamine your surroundings.

There are two queen sized beds with off-white and red bedding. The room is about half the size of your apartment. There is the small, round, dark wooden table with two matching chairs across from each other- one of which Sam is sitting in. This arrangement is next to the green door that leads outside. Beside the bed you're sitting on is a door that leads to a small bathroom. The floor is carpeted with a similar colour scheme as the bedding, the pattern of swirls having no discernible beginning or end. The ceiling is flat and brownish, much like the walls. There is a wooden end table between the beds. On this stands a digital clock, a box of tissues, and a small dish of mints.

Having completed this simple task- for the eighth time- you look to Sam with something resembling hope. He glances at you, seems to be about to speak, but turns his attention back to his screen without doing so. You sigh heavily, standing. You are incredibly bored, but you don't know what to do. You don't want to leave, fearing that this "thing" you are being protected from is waiting for you out there; but you don't have anything to do in this small motel room. You have endless questions you could choose from to ask Sam, but you're afraid of what he might say, or not say. You feel too uncomfortable to make small talk, and if Dean IS sleeping, you don't want to accidently wake him for something so mundane- for all you know he is sleeping in preparation for some big plan.

Not really sure what to do now that you are standing; you go into the bathroom and take stock of what is in there. The sink has a glass with two toothbrushes in it, a tube of toothpaste, and a bar of soap. The shower has tiny bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and bodywash on a shelf under the shower head. There are green towels hanging across from the toilet. The toilet paper appears to be one-ply. The room seems pretty clean, off-white in a way that seems purposeful rather than dirty. It smells kind of lemony.

With another sigh, you return to your post at the end of the bed. You stare at the swirls in the carpet, trying to think of something to say. You rest your head in your hands, your elbows on your knees. After a while, the swirls start to look like they are moving, and the sound of Sam typing fades into a sort of background nothingness. You're legs start to feel numb, so- with yet another sigh- you stand up again. This time, you go sit across from Sam.

"Hey." You say simply, not having come up with anything better.

He looks at you with an odd expression as he responds in kind. "Uh, hey."

You roll your eyes at him. "So, what have you been up to for the past five hours?"

He glances down at his screen before responding. "Searching for anything I can find out about this thing that we're hunting."

"Thing?" You ask before you can stop yourself. "What is it?"

"It's a sort of poltergeist, except it is less of a human spirit and more of a... an emotion." By his expression, you can tell he expects you to tell him that that sounds crazy.

Wondering if he'll ever understand that nothing he could say in relation to these supernatural things will ever make you doubt the truth in his words, you nod. "So, what are you going to do to…stop it?"

He studies your face for a moment, his brow furrowed and his lips drawn into a thin line. "We haven't decided yet. There are a few ways to kill it, none of them are simple." He shifts in his seat, pushing his laptop away. "You see, usually we can find the remains of the ghost's body and burn them. But this is a ghost whose body has already been cremated and is less human spirit than emotional energy." He leans forward. "This person died in a place where there was already a mass of extreme emotional energy building, and when they died this emotional energy latched onto their spirit. In these cases the ghost uses this energy to complete some task or to follow some direction from someone or something."

"Do you know what this one is doing?" You frown, unable to keep your curiosity in check. You've decided that knowing the enemy is better than fearing the unknown.

"It's trying to find something." Dean says, startling you. You hadn't noticed him sit up and move to the edge of the bed. He stretches, rolling his shoulders. "We think that it's acting on its own. There have been no signs to suggest otherwise."

"Oh…"You look between the two. "Do you know what it's looking for?"

"Nope." Dean answers simply, standing and moving to Sam's side. He puts a hand on the back of Sam's chair and leans down to look at the laptop's screen. "What have you found?"

Sam moves the computer so that Dean can see it better, then starts clicking around. "Here are the images from that security camera across the street from the convenience store. I think that this is when it first arrived in the area. It seems to be very interested in _this_ area. I looked it up, and there used to be a resort there, it burned down about sixty years ago. The area is completely different now, but there used to be a stream that led to this river." As he speaks, you get up to look at the screen with them and they adjust to allow you a better view. The images Sam is scrolling through depict a beautiful wooded area with a huge, elegant hotel in the middle. The stream Sam mentioned flows from around the building and down a steady slope. The river is the only thing you recognize, having been there several times over the past summer. It isn't as deep as it looks, and is about as wide as a two lane road. "They cut down these trees and paved everything, building those houses there. Regina Emerson is the great granddaughter of the man who built the resort."

"Hey!" You exclaim, straightening. "That man is the one she wrote about to her professor!" You point at the image of her great grandfather standing among his colleagues in front of the hotel. "She said he was doing a study on the nature of the human spirit. She mentions the study several times in her letters."

"Yeah, I remembered that too, so I did a little digging, and…" Sam shifts in his seat, moving the computer so that he can have more direct access. You and Dean glance at each other, he seems impressed. You aren't sure by what specifically, but you decide to believe that it is your dazzling intellect. "This is what I found." Sam turns the screen back to where it was. You and Dean lean down to see. On the screen are gruesome images of torture and death that turn your stomach. He clicks through several such scenes, and you begin to notice a theme. E very one has at least two people in them, and one person is always in much better condition than the other or others. "This is what they found in the west wing of the building after the majority of the building burned, and the authorities believe that more of the same was to be found throughout the building. According to the papers that were found, these people were family and Emerson would ask them each questions in an attempt to break them up and turn them against each other."

You straighten up, crossing your arms over your chest uncomfortably. Dean glances at you over his shoulder, saying something quietly to Sam so that you can't hear him. The two share a look that you have no hope of understanding, then Dean walks around to the other side of the bed. He pulls a duffle bag out from under it, dropping it on the bedspread and unzipping it. As he goes through its contents, Sam says "We think that the only reason it hasn't already come after you is because you have no family."

"oh…" You frown. "But I don't…lack family…" You say awkwardly, confused.

"None that live anywhere near here." Dean clarifies.

You look from one to the other, realizing that they both seemed to have been bracing for something and that they were now exchanging many glances that looked like they were trying to decide which of them would have to do whatever difficult thing needed to be done. "You already have a plan, don't you? One you don't think I'll like?" You accuse, focusing on Sam. He seems to be the one who would be most likely to be up-front with you.

"Well, we want to go to the site the resort was built on, and hope that the spirit will show." He says hesitantly.

"We want to use you as bait." Dean holds up a long knife. "If we share blood, it will think we're your family. It is already waiting for you, so it should work quickly."

"We have found evidence to support this theory." Sam says soothingly when you turn to him, about to demand this vary thing. "There have been a few cases where the victims it took were in no way related, except for through blood donations."

"Alright, fine." You glare at them. "Say it works, then what, huh?"

"We gank the son-of-a-bitch." Dean shrugs, cutting his palm.

"Yeah? How?" You take the knife from him, cutting your own palm. The blade's bite is harsher than you had expected and you suck air through your teeth with a hiss, grimacing.

"Let us worry about that part." Sam winces emphatically as Dean grabs your wrist and presses your bleeding palms together.

"Easy for you to say" You reflexively try to pull your hand back, but Dean's grip tightens as he rubs his hand against yours.

"We're professionals; we do this sort of thing all the time." He says, letting you go and handing you a roll of bandages.

Sam comes to your side, taking the roll from you and helping you bandage your hand. You hold out your hand, trying your best not to try to snatch it away from his gentle aid. "We aren't going to 'share blood' too?"

"No, one of us needs to be able to move freely." The two share another secret-meaning look.

You nod as if this makes perfect sense, doubting the intelligence of this plan. Dean has his hand quickly wrapped up; he wipes the blade clean on a cloth and tosses both items into the duffle on the bed. "How can I help, aside from being bait? If I'm out there with no plan, I might be too afraid to listen to anything in the field of action. I have no idea what to be expecting."

As Sam finishes bandaging your hand, they tell you about their plan. It is a simple plan that doesn't sound at all like it will succeed, but- as they said- they are professionals. They basically intend on tricking the spirit into a trap that will take the three of you into its realm, where it will then try to torture you to death. According to your two guards, this is the only place they can kill it, as this is the only place it has a corporeal form. Apparently, then they can kill it just like they would kill anything else. The plan is to take place tonight, and all you have to do is carry a silver knife and exist. Of course, there is the chance that the three of you will get separated, so you have to be prepared to hold out until they can save you. Luckily, they insist, once it realizes that the two of them intend on killing it, it will forget you and focus on them.

With a great deal of reluctance, you ready yourself to go to Regina Emerson's land- and then only because you know that if this thing is killed, it won't be able to hurt any more people.

* * *

The plan worked perfectly, or at least the first half of it did. You had gone to the house, and after a few hours of hanging out nervously, your surroundings suddenly changed. You were separated from the two men who are supposed to be protecting you a couple of hours ago, and you have since been wondering around in a huge, empty hotel. There are endless numbered doors, none of which you had dared opening. The carpets are deep red, and the walls are a clean white. The halls stretch on in daunting lengths, with corners turning you onto new paths that are just the same as the others. Panic is building in your chest, fear slowly wrapping its icy fingers around your heart.

After what seems like a week, but was more likely just another hour, you find a flight of stairs. There is a grand hall in front of you, huge and vaulted. Looking down into the vast room, you think you see Dean standing next to a table. You call out to him, and he turns to look up at you. You're filled with relief when he calls your name in doubtful questioning. You rush down the stairs, hoping the two of you will be able to quickly find Sam. Once at the foot of the stairs, you look out into the room. Dean is still standing next to the table, waiting for you. You start to run to him, but as you get closer you realize that he isn't moving to meet you. You stop, only a few yards away from him. Fear grips you, your stomach muscles tensing as you watch his face. He frowns, his brow furrowing. He calls your name again, inquiring as to why you are not moving. You turn the question back on him, having difficulties getting your voice to leave your throat. He responds only by saying your name again.

You take a step back, not sure what to do. This person in front of you is obviously NOT Dean, but you don't know where to go to get away. You're afraid to take your eyes off of him, fearing that he would disappear or use the opportunity to attack you. You grip your silver blade tightly, taking a few steps back. The false Dean calls out to you again, and you just shake your head. You try to focus on moving away, back towards the stairway. He calls out, telling you to watch out behind you. You stop, breathing heavily as you turn your head slightly. You can see a large human shaped figure out of the corner of your eye, a few yards behind you. This figure calls your name as well, telling you to get away from Dean, saying that it isn't really him. Its Sam's voice, but the figure doesn't look like him. It looks like a watery painting of him.

You turn, running to the side and away from them. There is a door, and you run as fast as you can at it, without turning to see if they are still there or not. You reach out to open the door, but a hand closes around your wrist, stopping you and yanking you away from the portal. You struggle against the strong grip of the nothingness that's holding you, slashing at it with your knife. You break free and dash away, running into the solid form of a man. You jump back screaming. There is a flash of pain in your head, and everything goes dark.

* * *

Everything is dark and quiet. There is a dull pain resonating from the back of your head, but everything else feels numb. You try to raise your hand to your head, but you are unable to do so. You hear something at the edge of your consciousness, something tugging at your attention. You struggle to grasp that something and bring yourself into wakefulness. The sound is near you, loud and… its screaming- a deep, pain filled shouting. You snap into awareness; turning your head to see Sam tied to a chair beside you, his face contorted in pain. A man stands in front of him, a smile spread across his face. His appearance is that of an average man in his mid-forties: brown eyes, brown hair, and average stature. You note this in the back of your mind as you search for the cause of Sam's pain. You try to call out to him, only realizing now that you are gagged. The man turns his head to look at you, his smile widening when he sees that you are awake. Sam stops screaming, his head dropping forward as he gasps for air. The man doesn't move. This raises your panic level more than any threatening gesture would. He seems to be studying you. Your heart pounds violently against it's cage, your lunges strain to get enough air. Your chest feels as if it's about to burst, and you can barely hear the words of a familiar voice over the rush of your blood.

"Sammy! Are you okay?" Dean says from somewhere behind you. "What's happening? Sammy? Sam!"

"I'm okay, Dean." Sam coughs, looking over at you through his curtain of hair. He turns his head, his hair falling out of his eyes so that he can see you better. He tells Dean that you are awake.

"Listen to me," Dean addresses you in urgent tones, "Don't let him get in your head, okay? Don't pay attention to him."

You are unsure if he means the pale man who you have not taken your eyes off of, or if he means Sam. It would make more sense if he meant the man in the suit, but he is clearly the one you need to watch out for. The man steps away from Sam and moves to stand in front of you. He puts a hand on your shoulder and leans down until his face is level with yours. "Hello, it's good to see you awake. Your brothers have been having so much fun without you, it hardly seems fair." He says as if to a child at a spring fair.

Dean tells you not to listen to him again, this time much more forcefully. Now his voice sounds like its coming from in front of you. You lean back until your head hits a hard surface- it feels like a rectangular pillar- the man's breath is cold on your face, and it is difficult to focus on him with his face so near your own. Sam calls your name in a scratchy, weary voice, but you can't take your attention off the man in front of you. The man reaches out with his free hand, stroking your hair. His touch sends shivers through your body and you try to pull away, but there is nowhere for you to go. Dean is saying something, but you can't quite make out the words. You're heart starts to calm, and your breathing even's out. The man is asking you questions that you can't understand- you don't know the answers. He asks about your older brothers, but his meaning is difficult to grasp. You focus harder, looking from his eyes to his unmoving lips. You meet his gaze again, but his visage is hazy. You concentrate on the brown orbs staring out at you from his grinning face. You hear Sam's warnings, but you can't pull your attention away. The smiling man's questions require your full focus. He seems to be speaking another language, one that is very similar to your own. You feel a tugging at your mind, a strange, disconcerting feeling. You close your eyes, turning your head. The man grabs your face, forcing you to face him. You open your eyes compulsively, glaring into the smiling man's empty eyes. His smile wavers.

Sam and Dean are calling your name. The man asks you about Dean; asks you about how much you would give for his safety. The only thought you can hold in your mind is that these two men are going to save you. At some point, all of this will end, and this man will be dead. His smile slowly turns down into a frown. He poses the same question about Sam. You grind your teeth, your heart rate rising again. It is difficult to hear anything over your own fear resounding around you. Sam is screaming again. Your mind latches onto the sound, using it as a guide to regain your bearings. You turn your head, closing your eyes, concentrating. Dean is still yelling at you, telling you it's not real. You focus on his voice instead, mentally clawing your way out of the thin man's grip. Dean tells you that there is no man; that you are in an empty basement. He says that everything you're seeing is in your head. You try to imagine a dark basement, blocking out everything else. You become warmer, Sam's screaming gets louder, Dean's voice sound's closer.

You open your eyes to a different darkness. After some time for your eyes to adjust, you can see Sam tied to the chair next to you, just as he was before. Only now he is covered in blood and the "man" in front of him is not a man at all. The foggy human shape wavers, releasing whatever grip it had on Sam. Your companion's chest heaves, and he slumps in his seat. He says something, but you can't hear it. There is a sudden pain in your chest, a small piercing pain that makes your breathing difficult.

"You have brought these people here to destroy me." A deep voice growls from all around you. "I will not be the one who breaks." You can feel the rage that drips from the voice burning through your mind.

The piercing in your chest suddenly spreads. The pain is intense, like you are being crushed under an immense weight. You scream, struggling against your bonds. You bite down on the cloth that is tied around your mouth, tears rolling down your cheeks. The pain increases and becomes all that you are aware of. You try to focus on freeing your hands, maybe then you would be able to put an end to this. It intensifies again, and you are sure that this agony will end in your death. Your mind becomes consumed by it.

After an amount of time that you cannot discern, the pain suddenly stops. There is still an ache, and as you force air into your deprived lungs the ache intensifies into a harsh pain. It is manageable, however, and you take a moment to gather yourself before opening your eyes. You look to your left to see Dean untying an unconscious Sam. Once this is done, he quickly moves around to in front of the slumped man, and holds his head up in his hands.

"Sammy?" He repositions his grip on Sam's face, brushing the long hair away. "Are you okay, little brother?" He asks as Sam blinks his eyes open.

Sam nods, clearly having difficulties staying conscious. "I'll be alright."

Dean studies his face for a moment before nodding. "Okay, sit tight." He leaves Sam and comes to you, untying the gag and dropping it on the cement floor. "Are you alright?" he asks as he moves around you to untie your hands.

You shake your head, unable to force anything more than a raspy sound to leave your lips. You rub your wrists and roll your shoulders. Resting your elbows on your knees, you slump and bury your face in your hands. Dean says something that you don't really hear. A warm hand on your shoulder draws your attention, and you look up. Dean stands in front of you with a concerned expression, his eyes scanning you. He crouches so he can be eye level with you.

"I know that you just went through a lot, but we need to get out of here. Can you make it out on your own?" His serious tone helps ground you and you look around. The room you are in is large, dark, and cool. There are familiar shapes slumped and lying around, and you can smell the strong stench of decomposition that you had been previously unaware of. There are rectangular support columns evenly spaced throughout the room, just like the one you were tied to. You can see other chairs like the one you are sitting in placed randomly throughout, some occupied and some empty. You spend several moments taking in these sites before Dean snatches your attention back. "Listen to me, can you make it? We need to get to a hospital."

You nod. He asks if you can walk on your own; you respond with a shrug. He helps you stand and take a few steps towards Sam, closing the short distance. You nod again, pulling away from him. He goes back to Sam, telling him that you are all leaving, that he's going to be just fine, and that you are okay too. He helps Sam stand and assists him as you all move through the large room toward a set of stairs. Moving up the stairs will take a long time, as you and Sam both need help to get to the top. You wait, leaning against the wall next to the stairway while Dean half carries Sam up. He returns after what feels like days, and scoops you up in his arms and carries you up the stairs at a relatively quick pace. You rest your head against his shoulder, your left arm clutched against your chest and your right arm wrapped around his neck. The stairway seems endless, but you feel safe in his warm arms.

When you eventually reach to top, he carries you up from a hole in the ground to an open space. The night air smells so sweet after the stench below. Dean sets you down and helps you find your balance. You look around while he goes to help Sam, who is sitting on a somewhat dilapidated couch. You realize that you are standing in what remains of Regina Emerson's house. The door that Dean just carried you up from was well hidden, covered by the room's carpet. You couldn't see how Regina could have ever gone down there, as it was obvious that Dean- or someone- had to cut a square out of the carpet to open it.

Watching Dean help Sam to the Impala, you stumble forward. Almost falling several times in as many steps, you decide to just stand and wait. Hearing the sound of rushing water, you look out into the woods to your right. The river is not far from here, you know, and it is a very quiet night. You listen to the peaceful sound of water and wind, until a shiver reignites the pain in your chest. You gasp, doubling over in pain. Dean is quickly at your side, supporting you.

You hold his arm, resisting his first attempt to pull you forward. "Alright, come on." He says, looking around. You aren't sure what he's looking for, but you follow suite and search your suburbial surroundings. He pulls you forward again, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You shuffle forward carefully, trying to keep pace. You hadn't realized before, but you are no longer wearing the coat that you had when you began this mission. The cold makes breathing even more painful. Your eyes tear up and you start coughing. The impala is in front of you, and Dean is trying to open the rear passenger-side door while still supporting you. You try to pull away from him to make his efforts easier, but his grip tightens. He opens the door and you crawl into the back of the impala. Before Dean even makes it to the other side of the car, the black silence of unconsciousness engulfs you.

* * *

**Don't worry, peoples, more is coming!**


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